


Scars and Traces

by Idonquixote



Series: Downstairs Accidents [2]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bard is moodier, M/M, Sebastian is moody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 11:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3894190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idonquixote/pseuds/Idonquixote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because the truth was Sebastian himself had become one of Bard’s scars, one he would trace and retrace until blood broke through and red flowed on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars and Traces

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of "Downstairs Accidents." Thanks to everyone that supported Part 1! I'm hoping to make 4 parts total.

In the days that follow, Sebastian doesn't speak to him, or rather doesn’t _speak_ to him. In return, Bard shoots him a glare every so often- a cranky quirk of his lips helps too. Since Sebastian's accident, the butler has been more aloof than ever before, and that was saying a lot to the cook.

Bard chops the celery beneath his knife, cutting a little too closely and too raggedly for Sebastian's standards. _To hell with that bastard!_

And to hell with himself for the bizarre bouts of anger in his veins. He remembers waking up in a panic, the bed still stained with blood and the butler nowhere to be found. Bard knew it hadn't been a dream and he knew that the warm body in his arms had been real. The way Sebastian had clutched to him- no, that could not be faked.

Which was why it miffed the cook so badly when the butler acted as if it never happened. No, ignoring was one thing- actively giving Bard the cold shoulder is a whole other can of worms.

"We'll see how you deal with this now," Bard hisses, dropping the ruined bits of celery into the pan and lighting them on fire with the meat within. Letting everything burn, like all his problems, is the only solution he knows.

The familiar smell of smoke in his nostrils, Bard's hand tightens on the pan until he feels the handle bend. The flames rose, the charred bits fell, and then-

"Get away from that, you idiot!"

Bard glares as Sebastian charges past him with a flamethrower. Burning eyes flash at Bard, the butler evidently mad. Sebastian points at the mess.

"Wasting food, as always. I told you to leave the stove alone. You were supposed to cut the celery, Bard. Clean this up and start over. We'll make something else for-"

Bard ignores Sebastian's ranting, too focused on the way his lips moved in frustration, the rigidness in his body, the condescending sound of his velvety voice. He yanks Sebastian by the arm.

"You know what, Sebastian? I don't like the way you're going on about me- don't I deserve some respect in this house!?"

"You'll get respect when you earn it. Let go of me."

"No." Bard seethes, tightening his grip. "I'm sick of the way you treat all of us. You don't think we try? Sorry we weren't born supermen, but that's no reason for you to-!"

Sebastian's glower would have killed a lesser man.

"To-"

The wrist in his grip is shaking, a subtle movement that shakes the world to Bard.

"To..."

On that night Sebastian hates so much, Bard had admitted more things than one. [i]I said I'd protect you, you son of a bitch

"To lie like this," Bard finishes.

And before Sebastian can fly at him, the cook rolls up his sleeve in a savage motion. They both freeze. Splotches of dark purple cover the pale skin, heavy bruises that did not exist before.

"Let go of me," Sebastian orders menacingly.

"What the hell is this!?" Bard booms, letting go, only to catch Sebastian by the collar.

Sebastian's eyes seem to flash red for a moment, but Bard attributes it to rage. The butler doesn't look him in the eye. He simply frowns and bites back an insult.

"Answer me or neither of us is getting dinner done."

Bard crashes into the cabinet behind him, Sebastian having shoved him back with- something. Steadying himself from the pain, Bard gets back up, wiping a bit of blood from a split lip.

"You think something like this is gonna keep me away, Sebastian?" he asks.

And then Sebastian has him by the collar, with the intent to strangle. But he lets go as soon as it happens. Sebastian steps back, placing a trembling hand on his tie. The trembling _is_ getting worse and Bard wonders if it's from their "little" spat.

"I have no time to spare with you, Bard. Fine- it was a reaction... My body seems to be spending its efforts on the wound only, and the rest of it is left in a less desired state. It's only temporary."

Bard rubs the back of his neck, staring at Sebastian with suspicion. Who talks like that about their own body? That didn't even make sense. But in a strange way, Bard believes him.

"Whoa- Sebastian-"

The butler has cast his jacket and waistcoat aside. Sebastian unbuttons his shirt and Bard is left gaping as Sebastian strips before him in the kitchen. He supposes it's good that Mey-Rin isn't there.

His breath catches. Save for the gauze around his chest, Sebastian's too-white skin is mottled with the same dark bruises, some darker than others, and if Bard didn't know better, he'd assume that someone had pinned the butler down and beat on him with a crowbar. It takes all his willpower to remember that no beating had occurred.

Bard touches the skin carefully, afraid that Sebastian would crumble at the contact. He’s seen Sebastian exposed before but that in was the dark and now he can see- not a scar to be seen, and a part of him hopes that terrible injury will never scar. Not a scar to be seen, but bruises everywhere.

"As I've said, it's only temporary. You have no need to worry," Sebastian says wearily, looking away with a faint blush on his cheeks.

It's awkward, Bard knows. And in the light, Sebastian looks... young, very young. Bard had always pegged Sebastian to be some years younger than himself, but it had never occurred to him to call him _young_. Holy smokes. Sebastian almost looks innocent. And there he is, displaying all that vulnerability for Bard and Bard alone.

It means he remembers that night.

It means he remembers Bard.

"Uh, thanks," is all Bard can say.

With one last glare, Sebastian proceeds to pick up his clothes. Bard comes to his aid. "Here, lemme help with that."

Bard helps with the buttons- he's not the most graceful but he doubts Sebastian is any better with all that shaking. With a bit of guilt, he sees fresh bruises under Sebastian's cuffs, from where Bard had pressed too roughly. On a usual day, no mark would have been left. It's more than a little unsettling- to admit that yes, Bard does find Sebastian frail and helpless, and yes, he does want to be the one to fix that. And yes, every bruise might as well have been on Bard’s own body because they hurt.

Because the truth was Sebastian himself had become one of Bard’s scars, one he would trace and retrace until blood broke through and red flowed on.

“Thank you,” Sebastian says, though it sounds more like _fuck you_.

Bard doesn’t reply.  Instead, he asks if the butler would like a drink and Sebastian gives him his righter-than-thou disapproving stare.

“It wouldn’t help,” Sebastian sighs, “go back to work, Bard.”

“Hey, you haven’t given it a shot yet.” And then Bard forces a chuckle at his own pun. For some reason, Sebastian’s face relaxes. _Always knew he was a punloving limey._

They don’t say anything later- nothing needs to be said. Bard resists the urge to dig for the cigarettes in his pocket out of some irrational fear that the smoke would damage Sebastian even more. They take turns swigging from the same bottle of liquor. As the alcohol numbs his brain, Bard imagines Sebastian’s lips- trembling and smooth- instead of the bottle’s rim.

Sebastian remains sober for all Bard knows, but whatever animosity between them seems to have subsided at least temporarily. He supposes that until Sebastian’s shaking subsides, Bard can pull more weight with the chores. He’s about to tell Sebastian about an old war trick when a gloved thumb presses against the corner of his mouth.

Bard is still, a sting of pain from where Sebastian had struck him earlier. The butler caresses it tenderly.

“I’ll never understand any of you,” Sebastian says, but his head is down, and all Bard can see is those dark lashes.

“Look who’s talkin’,” Bard quips back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed that and comment/kudos are more than welcome!


End file.
